


Corpse Blue

by steveelotaku



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Timeline, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Bugs & Insects, Buried Alive, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fire, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Nightmares, Not Canon with the Comics, Past Rachel/Chloe, Post-Canon, Psychological Horror, Save Chloe Price Ending, Survivor Guilt, Where People Have Common Sense, past amberprice, pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 17:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20118733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steveelotaku/pseuds/steveelotaku
Summary: Chloe Price is not having a good night.





	Corpse Blue

**Author's Note:**

> This is pure hurt/comfort, of the highest order, but it is also severely horror-oriented and please, read the tags above before reading. While there is cute material at the end of the story, there is also a metric ton of horror before and so as such please proceed with caution. Chloe's mind is not a nice place to be.
> 
> (Note: This story is an AU, pretty much, where the storm didn't go nearly as badly and Max refused to sacrifice Chloe. And where the people of Arcadia Bay had more brains than a doorknob.)

Chloe couldn’t remember the last time she’d breathed. It had to have been moments ago, she supposed, but it didn’t feel like it. She was just sleeping badly, she hoped.

Because otherwise, the coffin lid right in front of her eyes was really there, and she was dead…or close to it. Pressing up against the rough-hewn wood, feeling splinters sinking into her fingers, she fought the urge to scream. She was a tough bitch and she wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction of killing her, especially not like this.

She lay back and gathered her strength, trying desperately to ignore an itching feeling like some wriggling worm or dark beetle was crawling over her. Now was not the time for fear. Forcing every bit of power into her knees, she drove them upward.

A sound of splintering wood echoed in the coffin, followed by a rush of dirt. Frantically, she began to claw her way to the surface, struggling against roots and earth, her boots giving her some traction against the soil. Trying to hold her breath and not suck in earth, she kept going even as her vision swam. Eventually, she felt one of her hands breach the surface.

Clawing her way from the ground like some punk rock zombie, she shook her blue-tinged mop of hair free of the dirt and insects which had settled into it, and shivered. It was night, now, and the air was incredibly cold on her bare shoulders. She was still in a tank top and jeans, and neither was feeling warm enough for where she was.

It was the junkyard, she realized, after a moment.

True, the last time she’d been there, it hadn’t been quite so fog-shrouded, or had tombstones jutting out of random areas like some first grader’s Halloween play, but it was still visibly a junkyard. There were random bits of broken glass and metal everywhere; old TVs sat around, next to junked cars and bits of signage from long-departed diners.

“C’mon, Chloe,” she muttered to herself. “Get your shit together and get home ASAP. Maybe your fuckin’ stepdad can be useful…”

She kept walking, nearly tripping over everything in the sheer darkness. It was almost cartoonishly dark—she imagined her eyes being the only thing visible. All the while, she could almost hear someone walking, but whenever she stopped, so would the steps. Every time she turned around, though, she saw nothing at all.

“God, if Max was here, she’d know what to do. She’d probably rewind it so I never wound up here in the first place. Why does she have to be like, 80% of my self-control?”

The sticks and glass broke under her feet as she continued forward. The cold wind stabbed into her more and more, dragging its talons down her bare shoulders. She looked around, trying to see if there was even an old rug she could use as a coat, but there was nothing that she could see.

Tired, she kept walking, until a bright spark caught her eye.

Inside of a shelter ahead, she could see a campfire. Something about the shelter looked oddly familiar, so she stepped inside. Upon further examination, it was _that place._

The hideout she’d had with Rachel.

The hideout she’d shared with Max.

And now, Rachel Amber was sitting at the campfire. Or rather, lounging out, posing in a very “draw me like one of your French girls” way. She was drinking beer and smiling softly, still dressed in red flannel and jeans, looking for all the world like the mysterious, untouchable girl Chloe had fallen for.

“Rachel?” Chloe said, her voice barely a whisper. “Damn, girl…is that you?”

“Took you hella long to show up,” Rachel said with a smile. She laughed faintly. “I’ve missed you, Chloe. Missed you _big _time.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Chloe stammered out. “Just…everything’s been so crazy…I woke up buried alive, tonight. What the hell did I drink? My head’s pounding…”

Rachel smiled.

“Sounds like you had what I did.”

Chloe froze.

“Wait, what?”

Rachel grinned wider.

“I got _bored_, Chloe. Sick of waiting. You know what that’s like, don’t you? Now I’m dead, and you’re alive. But applause. _Max_ finally came back. Maybe she’ll stay.”

“No,” Chloe gasped. “This isn’t you. This isn’t real, none of this is…”

“I’m real enough,” Rachel said, grabbing her tight. “I’m real enough to kill.”

As the nightmarish Rachel strangled her, Chloe grabbed a nearby bottle and smashed it on her head, letting Rachel drop off into the fire. Horrified, she scrambled to lift her out, only for a bloodied, melted Rachel to lunge from the flames at her.

_“WHY DID YOU LET ME DIE, CHLOE?! WHY DID YOU REPLACE ME?!”_

Chloe ran, faster than she’d ever run before, only for two lights to come out of the darkness, blinding her. A truck horn sounded, and just before she could make out the truck screeching towards her, her father’s corpse embedded in its grill like a grisly ornament, she awoke with a scream.

Immediately, she saw a light flicking on next to her, and Max Caulfield immediately at her side.

“Chloe, Chloe! Holy shit, are you okay? Talk to me!”

Super Max to the rescue again.

Chloe felt around in her hair, surprised to find no dirt, no worms, not even the dampness of the earth on it. She took a halting, shuddering breath, and trembled.

“Fuck, Max…” she gasped, after a moment. “Don’t let me watch horror movies before I sleep for a week. No matter how much I beg. That was too fucking real.”

“What happened, Chloe? You don’t normally wake up screaming.”

Chloe filled her in on the details of the dream, and Max shuddered. Standing up, she went over and made cups of tea for them both. She put extra sugar in Chloe’s and served some hot, buttered toast with it.

It had been a while since the storm; Arcadia Bay was rebuilding—not many people had died, thankfully. Max’s warnings _had _been listened to by quite a few people, and the Prescotts were facing a considerable amount of investigation as to why the storm shelter they’d built in case of _this very scenario _had somehow magically become a sexual predator’s photography studio.

Chloe had been reinstated at Blackwell Academy—Principal Wells had been fired due to gross incompetence and inability to realize that Jefferson had been preying on the student body. The news he’d been taking bribes had come out, too (certain emails had been released to the public; Chloe didn’t say she was responsible, and Max felt it was best not to ask.) The two were now sharing a dorm room, and life was starting to return to normal.

The key word was _starting._

“That’s awful, Chloe…I mean, I can understand why you’re having dreams like that, though…”

“Really?”

“The universe has been out to get you. You’ve lost so much…”

Max’s eyes teared up a little.

“It’s just not fair to you,” she said, trying not to cry. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and you’re…you’re…I just love you, okay? I love you so much and I want you by my side forever. I want you to be my forever, okay?”

Chloe pulled Max tight and kissed her.

“Whoa, Super Max. I’m not leaving you. Not ever.”

She swallowed hard.

“Listen, I’m sorry if the Rachel shit…is bothering you, or whatever…I’m sorry she’s still on my mind. You don’t need all this past tense bullshit.”

“Chloe, do you think I’m mad about that?” Max asked, gently. “I’m not…I swear, maybe at first I was a little bit jealous…it’s clear you had something hella hot going on. I mean, wowser, you just don’t meet someone like _that _every day. And I’d ditched you, too—the day of the _funeral_, I mean I still don’t get how you forgive me.”

Chloe shrugged.

“I mean, it took a while—but listen…when I met Rachel, I said shit that pissed her off, and I nearly lost her too. So I went to the junkyard and sobbed and smashed everything I could—until I got to a camera…and I couldn’t help but think about you and how I’d take you back if you just _came back_. You wouldn’t even have to be sorry…I’d take you back in a heartbeat and buy you breakfast.”

She sighed, softly.

“God, look at me, Max. I’m a fuckin’ martyr. No wonder I woke up buried alive in that dream. I’d _let _someone bury me if it meant you and Rachel being safe…”

The very name of Rachel seemed to sting as she said it, and she found herself shrinking back.

“I wouldn’t let you get buried,” Max said, matter-of-factly. “We’re in this _together_.”

Chloe said nothing but sipped her tea and nibbled at her toast, which soon became full-on devouring of said toast.

“Fuck, I needed that.”

Max put an arm around Chloe’s shoulders.

“You’re freezing…”

“I guess I am,” Chloe replied, shivering involuntarily. “I remember it being hella cold in the dream. It’s hot as hell in here but I’m _still _frozen solid.”

“You’re turning blue…” Max said, mischievously. “Oh wait, false alarm, that’s just your hair.”

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“You are lucky I love you so much, Mad Max, or you would be sleeping alone tonight for that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Max said, laughing. “You need your doe.”

“Damn right I do,” Chloe replied, nuzzling deeper into Max’s neck.

As the two lay down once more for the night, Chloe sighed.

“I just hope I’m done with the nightmares…”

Max pressed a kiss to Chloe’s heart.

“You’re safe now, Chloe. No more nightmares.”

And Max was right.

There were no more nightmares.


End file.
